Dr lee mass eye and ear
2015.09.01 01:27 GrappLr
A young papaya farmer from Brazil... He grew weary of the farm and decided to go to the city where he became a Grappler. 3 years went by after dominating the underground scene undefeated. He retired and traveled to many places before becoming a humble citizen in Runeterra known as Swole Squirrel.
2023.06.04 08:36 sweatyyetispaghetti What in-ear headphones would you buy from JBHIFI (Australia) right now for less than $150?
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2023.06.04 08:35 InkDiamond [PI] They’d scrounged up what little they had, but neither knew what to do next. They had never been in a situation like this before—never attended such an event. What the Archives called: a par-ty
Marc gave it another go. He tipped his hand forward. The silver patty rolled off him, dropping toward the cave floor.
It stopped short of hitting the path. The shiny disc halted in the air, dangling at the end of a thin white line.
He watched the small wheel spin. It might have been the most fun he’d had all year. Even more fun than that mud puddle he’d found the other day. How does it keep going?
Marc thought to himself. And without any power??
Marc assumed the disc was some sort of technological marvel from the past. But the Archives had little information on it, only a name. It was called a “yo-yo.” They all must have had one of these,
As Marc walked down the stone ramp, he cast the yo-yo again. The toy’s quiet spin was the only sound in the cavern. The soft hiss of string versus metal reverberated gently in the spacious cave.
Marc focused all his attention on the little gadget. He was determined to enjoy every last minute of the universe, no matter what. And that evening, the yo-yo more than accomplished that goal.
The shimmering yo-yo, however, couldn’t prevent the world around him from crumbling. The ground started to rumble. The rest of the cave shook with it. The underground city shook as the plasma storm above battered it—and the rest of the planet.
Marc’s home broke down. Cracks appeared in the ceiling. Waterfalls of dust poured out of them. It wouldn't be long before the whole thing collapsed. That is, if the plasma storm didn’t swallow it whole first. Whatever.
A few clumps of dirt wouldn’t ruin Marc’s fun. He pulled the hood of his shawl over his head and extended his ragged sleeves toward each hand. His clothes shielded him from the falling dust; the gritty particles made themselves at home on his messy shawl. And Marc was free to perfect his newest trick.
The rumbling died down though as Marc descended the ramp. The yo-yo string didn’t wobble so much, and he didn't have to watch his steps as carefully. He just hoped the quaking wouldn’t come back to ruin his event.
Speaking of which, Marc glanced ahead toward his destination below. What he saw rocked him even harder than the earthquake had. What in the sinkpits…?
Marc stopped in his tracks. He even started to reach for his knife. All because he’d detected a speck of something suspicious. Something he didn't see much of every day: color.
Showy landmarks weren’t something endemic to his home. The Outpost was more of a dusty gray-and-brown sort of place. The walls were sandstone. The floor was sandstone. And the ceiling? …Granite?
No, sandstone. All under the faint glow of a string of depressed lightbulbs.
The intriguing blip in the gray-and-tan collage was farther up the path. Ahead of the ramp, on Level 8, Marc saw the same three steel doors he was used to seeing. The front doors of underground homes, lined up in a row, each closed into the cave wall.
However, there was something different
about the third door. It looked… alive. Like it didn’t belong in a dreary place like the Outpost. But it was too far away to tell what exactly had been done to it.
Marc squinted at it suspiciously. The third door happened to be his destination. And now it was weird.
He considered waiting and observing the mutated door. A child of the Outpost, Marc had developed a healthy fear of the unusual.
These habits, along with his instincts, kept him safe. They’d specifically preserved him
while the rest of humanity perished.
But he shrugged off the instinct to wait. Something new and “different” was ahead, and he wanted to see it.
But just as a precaution, it was time for his yo-yo’s last trick. He got in one final throw then placed the toy into his satchel. He dropped it on top of his arsenal of cables, wrenches, and screwdrivers.
And by the time he’d snapped the satchel shut, the long ramp had bottomed out. He’d made it to the next level.
To his left, the wall had been spray-painted. Scrawled-out black letters stood against the sandy background. They stated, “Now Level 8.
Marc followed the sign. He stayed close to the wall, crossing to the stone pedestrian path. He passed one untouched steel door with a dusted-over mail slot in the wall beside it. Then he passed a second home—abandoned like the first. And finally, he arrived at his friend’s place and the mysterious blip on Level 8.
To his surprise, the steel door elicited a flush of emotion. His heart floated upward. And the portrait before him drew his focus in like an otherworldly beacon. How did it get so…?
Marc pulled back his hood. The ground popped with the sandy grains he released.
He could hardly believe the difference. The door used to blend in with the others: another ridged steel face that spent most of its time rusting or collecting dirt.
But it was no longer muffled by the dust and dirt that had built up over the years.
Today, it sung. Paint streaks flew across its visage. They swirled and spiraled, forming stars and other shapes. Where previously gray and rust dominated, colors sprang forth—colors that Marc didn't even have the names for. They were many, and they were warm,
like the evening sky just after sunset. Marc could hardly wrap his head around the entire image.
He swelled with gratitude. Only
you could have pulled this off.
He thought of his friend, the painter. The one person in the colony who’d ever been any fun. The one other person in the colony who was left…
The artist had done the unthinkable. Foraging the garden below for something other
than food. Spending work time measuring and concocting the perfect blends of paint. And then slathering their fingers across the giant door, until its old face was but a memory. And all that effort for only a single other person
Newly inspired, Marc searched for an unpainted space on the metal canvas. He found one and knocked on the door.
He took a step back and waited. The outside of the Outpost was lively. Excited wind rushed through the canyon.
By contrast, the Outpost itself was silent. If there was anyone left to say anything, they may have even called it “dead.”
Or nearly dead, anyway. The last morsel of it came to life as the door in front of Marc groaned.
It floated off the ground, inching upward. On the other side, Marc could hear a hand crank clicking away. Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
The corrugated door lifted, and the door rolled up. The tip of the artist’s painting started to slip from view. Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
Behind the door, chains reeled at a slow clip. The heavy curtain was halfway up. Marc could now see his best friend's lower half. Buff Lenorkian legs pumped back and forth with each crank.
The door unveiled even more of the owner. A torso in a metal suit appeared. Four ripped arms stretched out of it. They rotated, moving to the clicking beats of the door. Ktch… ktch… ktch… ktch…
The door raised a few inches further, uncovering the bottom half of a cobalt blue face. Two rows of razor-sharp teeth smiled from ear to ear. A few inches more, and Marc could see the whole of the Lenorkian’s face.
Sid greeted Marc as the last of the door raised.
” he said.
Marc didn’t get a chance to respond. His body lurched forward involuntarily. He slammed into Sid’s metal suit. Crrrrrick!
The armor squealed as Sid’s upper two arms squeezed him tighter. The lower set of arms had reeled Marc in.
hugs. Stupid mushy emotional wraparounds. But just this one final time, Marc returned the gesture. He squeezed Sid back.
“Happy Worlds’ End!” Sid said from the other side of the embrace.
“Yeah,” Marc replied, “Happy Worlds’ End.”
The two separated.
“Cool painting, by the way,” Marc said. He pointed at the rolled-up door. “I didn’t think you’d top the one in the garden.”
“You think so?” Sid sheepishly smiled. “Well I’ve had more time to practice since… you know.”
“Yeah, I get it,” Marc said. “Me too. That’s how I actually got you
Marc swung his heavy satchel around. He rifled through it, squeezing through cables, knocking handles and parts out of the way. And then—ah.
He fished out a crumpled rag. Holding it in one hand, he began to gently unfold it.
“I found this a few days ago in the garden,” he said. The edges of the cloth fell. They revealed a small, glass object. It sparkled.
Marc continued, “I think it fits your style—I mean, I know it’s a little smudged and chipped but...”
He swirled the crystal trinket around. The cavern’s incandescent light flittered across its clear edges.
He touched it too, tracing the slender portion of it with his thumb. It was the neck of the crystal swan.
“It’s yours,” Marc said, offering up the bird.
Sid cupped two shovel-sized hands and accepted the gift.
“It’s beautiful…” he said, examining it. “I can’t believe anything like this could have survived this long.” He looked up at Marc and smiled, “Thank you so much. I just wish I had a little longer to could enjoy it.”
They chuckled lightly about their impending obliteration.
“Well, come on in,” Sid said. He extended both of his left arms. They gestured toward the cave interior. “We’ll finish off this universe how it started,” he said. He mashed his upper two fists together. “With a bang!”
“I hear that!” Marc nodded. He crossed over into Sid’s house.
As Marc passed Sid, a wave of discomfort hit him. Sid had switched out his usual t-shirt and jeans. He wore old armor instead. And the metal plating taunted Marc.
Marc’s next question came out more accusatory than curious.
“So… a Lenorkian throwback, huh?” he asked Sid.
Sid had just finished finding the perfect home for his swan. He left it on a shelf next to the front door.
He turned to face Marc. He hid his embarrassment behind a jagged smile.
“Oh!” he said. “Uhhh…” Three of Sid’s arms disappeared behind his back. The cone-shaped cuffs at the end of each wrist clanked against the back of his chest armor. The fourth arm nervously scratched his blue head. “I don’t know,” he said. “It's stupid, I guess. I can take it off… if you want.”
Marc didn’t want to address the topic head-on. He stopped in the cave’s entry. He pretended to admire the walls—as if he’d never seen sandstone before.
“No, leave it on,” he said. “You look… like a true Lenorkian.” He turn around and forced a smile.
It wasn’t enough.
“Okay, let’s get this out of the way,” Sid said. He marched up to Marc.
Sid took a deep breath before he spoke.
“Tonight's really important to me,” he continued. “This is the last impression anyone’s
going to make on the universe. So I need you on board.” He continued staring down at Marc. “Can you do that? For me?”
Marc didn’t see what the big deal was. It was just a couple of best friends hanging out.
“Yeah, why not?” he shrugged. “End it the way it started.”
The exchange turned into awkward silence. Neither knew what to do next. They had never been in a situation like this before—never attended such an event. What the Archives called: a par-ty.
Sid shook off the figurative mask he’d been wearing—one that was uncharacteristically dour. His eyes lightened, and he bobbed his head knowingly.
“I went through the Archives to see how this works,” he said. He walked toward the long horizontal counter against the wall—the kitchen.
On the counter, chaos ran wild. Bowls and kitchenware spread across the surface. And the insides of his pots and pans resembled the dirty mouth of a garbage chute.
Marc wasn’t sure what to think. Was cleaning the host’s kitchen a staple of ancient parties?
Sid too seemed a bit confused. His next words came out robotically, as if he was practicing a new word he’d learned.
’” Sid asked. He stood nervously in front of the counter.
Looking closer at it, three unusual objects stood apart from the kitchenware mess. It took Marc a while to remember what their outdated, bendy material was called. Plastic
. Three pink
cups sat equidistant from one another.
“I got these from here,” Sid reached under the counter and pulled up some sort of transparent bag. Pink cups just liked the others were stacked on top of each other inside.
Sid packed the bag back under the counter.
“So?” he asked after he finished. He held all four hands together in anticipation. His smile may have looked like an industrial-grade rock shredder, but it was hard to resist his innocent blue face and big wide eyes.
Marc eyed the pink cups one last time.
“This better not kill me,” he said.
Sid wasted no time. He excitedly grabbed a cup and walked over to a large pot sitting on the counter.
Using a nearby ladle, he plunged into the vat. An unappetizing sloshing sound resulted. And Sid, as strong as he was, seemed to struggle with scooping out some of the mystery liquid. But in the end, he pulled back the ladle and unloaded an opaque, muddy liquid into the cup.
“It's a homeworld classic called fludge,” Sid said as he finished pouring.
He treaded over to his reluctant friend and handed off the plastic cup.
“Did you say ‘fludge’?” Marc asked. He swished the cup around cautiously. The earthy liquid hardly budged.
“Yeah, fludge! Us Lenorkians invented it. It’s kind of the only tasty thing we ever bothered to make.”
Marc sniffed it. It smelled… burnt? Maybe a little dusty, too? But he could have just been smelling the cave.
Sid left Marc alone with Marc’s questionable new assignment. He returned to the pot to pour himself a drink.
“Just try it!” he said.
Marc looked down again at the dark soup. It could kill him. Or maybe it wouldn't.
Either way, it was his last drink.
He took a timid sip and waited to be repulsed. The fludge trickled to the back of his tongue. As it hit, Marc’s eyes widened. But not with regret.
“Now wait a minute…” he said. He smacked his lips together. Then he took another, larger sip.
This curious dark liquid had a unique taste to it. The taste was earthen—but unoffending. It also had a subtle undercurrent of sweetness to it, combined with a spicy kick. It was delicious.
“This might be the best drink in the entire Outpost!” Marc exclaimed.
Pure joy bloomed on Sid’s face. “See! I told you: the greatest thing we ever made.”
He held his own cup above his open jaws. The falling fludge was no match for the alien. He guzzled it down, licked his lips, and then went back for more.
As Sid fashioned himself another drink, Marc noticed something a tad
unsettling. A third pink cup stared back at him. It prompted an uncomfortable thought, but he shoved the thought back down.
The Lenorkian carried back his second drink. Though this time, he took it in small, human-sized sips.
But he quickly reanimated. In the middle of a sip, Sid got a wild look in his eyes. His irises turned from their natural violet to scarlet. He yanked the cup from his face and swallowed.
“Argh, how did I forget?” he said. “I got music!”
Marc cut his sip short too. “No way. You got music?
“I think so!”
Sid did an about face. He slammed the half-empty cup on the counter. Then he shuffled toward a giant metal column protruding from the far wall. Four ink-blue hands wrapped around the cover of the vent. And he went for it.
Sid struggled to pull off the cover of the vent at first. His armor ballooned around his biceps as his muscles bulged outward. Yet the cover wouldn't budge.
But it seemed like an important part of his evening plans. He scolded the stubborn vent, banging on its top.
“Oh, you’re gonna get it now!” he said. He latched onto the vent again.
This time, he put even more effort in. To the point where Marc sensed that Sid was losing a grip on his own body. Out of his forehead, two thumb-sized cones began to rise. His breathing turned low and raspy. And his whole body seemed to expand as he repositioned himself for leverage. Then with one final pull, like a wild beast, he let out of a deep, guttural roar.
” The roar echoed off the cave walls.
And with that, the stubborn vent cover finally popped off. A breath of wind pulsed through the room as the air pressure equalized itself.
But the wind wasn’t finished. After the initial pulse exited, a mighty gust picked up where the original pulse left off. The vent shot more wind into the room, but rapidly, like a storm. Tiny coarse particles rattled inside the duct. And in the room, a rush of wind whipped past Marc’s face. He felt little nips across his exposed skin as it passed him.
Both partiers shielded their faces from the most direct blasts of air. Sid smiled nervously as he looked to Marc. He raised his voice over the whining airstream.
“It’s from the sandplains above!” he said in an elevated voice. “I thought we’d use the sandstorm for music! Do you like it?”
Music… Marc wasn’t exactly an expert. Even though humans were said to be naturals at it, not much on the subject had made it into the Archives. The Outpost didn’t have much of it either. The closest he got was the occasional chant, stray birds twittering about, or maybe someone banging on rocks.
But Marc did know one thing on the subject. Where there was music, there was dancing.
That said, he had never danced before either. But a long time ago, his parents told him it was something all
humans could do. It was something they carried in their blood. Once humans found a pattern in music, they could match it to their body language. And once they’d synced melody and movement, they could ride that wave to a whole new experience. Might as well give it a shot,
he thought. Marc too put his cup on the counter.
With his hands free, Marc backed up toward the middle of the room. He closed his eyes, felt the wind. It filled his ears with its gusty energy. It hit him in pumps as the storm raged above.
Though not totally predictable, the wind did hit him consistently. There was some sort of kinetic pattern
Yes, a pattern
Well actually, he’d heard it called by another name. What was that word his mother had used? He opened his eyes when he remembered: rhythm.
Marc stretched out his arms. He relaxed his hips. He felt the wind’s whips and waves across his arms. He let his arms follow them, swaying with the current. Not long after, his hips joined in. They too gyrated, trying to match the energetic gusts. He kept at it. And the first time Marc felt both himself and the wind moving together, he grinned.
“This is amazing!” he said. Around them, the wind crooned.
Sid was entranced. He nodded back while staring at Marc’s strange movements. He’d never really seen dancing either. But he figured he would give it a shot too. He loosened up his arms and walked onto the dance floor with Marc.
Before dancing himself, he studied Marc first. He watched how the scavenger moved his arms—and when
the scavenger moved his arms.
Sid’s limbs followed. Four muscular arms rose in the air, like fighter jets on their way to a dogfight. And on a one or two second delay, they swayed after Marc’s.
For a while, they followed Marc completely. Then Sid went down his own path. The Lenorkian’s movements grew aggressive and battle-like. He punched at the wind swiping across him. He shuffled his feet as if swapping battle stances.
He caught Marc’s curiosity. Even as a novice, Marc could tell Sid’s movements weren’t traditional by any means. But to Marc, it was dancing all the same.
The two danced to the chorus of the air above. They laughed occasionally as changes in the rhythm of the wind tripped them up. In his head, Marc compared it to the painting on Sid’s door. The colony had never seen anything like this
Then something interrupted their dancing. The ground beneath them shook, throwing them off their feet. Heavy gray dirt trickled from the ceiling as the entire cave rumbled. And outside, the distant sky flashed and crackled. Its light illuminated the cave in violent spurts as the boys struggled to stand back up.
Eventually, the violent quaking and frightening flashes died down. The plasma storm held its breath once again.
The boys got back on their feet, but all the joy had seeped out of Sid’s face. He just stared at the floor in deep contemplation. Even as the windy music started back up.
Marc figured he would rescue his friend from whatever dark thoughts had turned up. Naturally, the end of the universe was a real bummer.
“End of the world got you down, huh?” He tried to laugh it off. The whole situation was pretty sad. Especially when they were having so much fun. But it was best to end the universe on a high note, right?
Nevertheless, Sid seemed dejected. He mumbled something inaudible.
“Dude, I can’t hear over the song!” Marc said in an elevated voice.
Sid spoke up over the wind. “That’s not what I’m upset about,” he said, his voice still fairly low.
“Then what are you upset about?”
Sid blurted out his response. “Because I invited Tōn-E, okay?
He couldn’t bring himself to look Marc in the eye. Because he knew what was coming.
“YOU DID WHAT?!
” Marc shouted over the music. Marc himself stomped over to the vent. He picked the cover off the floor—though he struggled quite a bit with it. It was heavier than Sid made it look. But he hoisted it back into the mouth of the vent. The music shut off. The steady drop of sand on the cave floor ceased.
“Say that again,” he leveled in Sid’s direction.
“What was I supposed to do?
” Sid remade eye contact. “Not invite the only other intelligent being
to the last party the universe will ever have?
Marc needed no time to answer. He nodded insistently. “Yes. That was exactly
what you were supposed to do. What the hell, Sid?” Marc would have continued, but there was another disturbance outside. He caught a glimpse of movement in the doorway.
Thanks for reading some of my words :) I’m trying stuff out, so let me know what you think.
The rest of the story is here
Based on this prompt
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2023.06.04 08:31 InkDiamond (cont.) [PI] They’d scrounged up what little they had, but neither knew what to do next. They had never been in a situation like this before—never attended such an event. What the Archives called: a par-ty
(Note: this is the second half of the story. Will link the first half shortly)
The two teens both looked toward the front of the room. There was a gray sphere. Hovering in the doorway.
But if you asked Marc, it was an annoying gray sphere. And it hovered in the doorway like an absolute rustnut.
Marc wasn’t sure where on the sphere to level his disdain. The whole dumb surface was the same all over. It was a series of interconnected, translucent hexagons. Stupid yellow lights blinked sporadically across its many faces—for no apparent rhyme or reason—perhaps just to further annoy Marc.
An electronic voice called out from the sphere. “Did I hear muuuuuusic?” he asked. “Before that last plasma burst?”
Marc shot Sid a glare that could kill. But the big blue alien didn’t back down.
“Last impression. Remember?” he told Marc before going toward Tōn-E with a brimming, sharp-toothed smile and arms extended. “Tōn-E! Glad you could make it! Come on in.”
On the inside, Marc cringed. He mostly tried to forget that Tōn-E walked (hovered?) the same Levels as them. Tōn-E represented the most self-destructive habits of the Outpost. The only features of the city indifferent to survival.
But Tōn-E was all too real. He entered the room like a ghost in a nightmare.
“I am also happy to be here,” he said. The faces of his sphere randomly lit up as he spoke. “I otherwise had no plans for tonight. Because the planet is set to explode.”
“Yes, I’ve heard,” Sid joked.
“I approximate it will only take a few more—hold on. What is this??”
Tōn-E spun slowly in the air. The side previously facing Sid rotated toward the ceiling. When it reached the top, a spotlight shot toward the ceiling—right where Sid’s door had slotted in.
The spotlight stretched horizontally across the door until it resembled a straight line. This line swept back and forth across the raised door. It moved as if he was cleaning it.
“I don’t believe it!” Tōn-E said. “What an exquisite painting. A remarkable addition to your growing and ever-expanding portfolio, Sid.”
Tōn-E finished his scan of the painting. His expanding spotlight shut off. And he re-centered himself to face Sid.
“Aww, shanks,” Sid said. Each of his right arms latched onto the bends of the left ones. “You really think so?”
“Of course! There are colors here I’ve only seen named in the logs. You have tastefully incorporated /#FF00FF: a color our ancestors previously referred to as ‘magenta.’”
“Yes! That’s right! I was going for ‘magenta!’ You really think I did it?”
Marc looked down to hide his face. He rolled his eyes. Magenta. He would have loved to tell Sid how much he liked it too. But Marc had spent his years surviving, not studying colors in old, useless historical archives.
Sid and Tōn-E continued their snooty, pretentious discussion.
“I made it mixing legblee blood and just a liiiiiiittle bit of groundwater,” Sid said.
“That was a very clever! Allow me to save your painting to my internal memory.”
“Really??” Sid’s cheeks greened a little.
“Yes, I will review at a later time when I am both unable to view the original but would still like to once again be inspired by your clever and skillful hands.”
“Tōn-E, I—I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”
Marc simmered in his anger. Stupid Tōn-E. Always ruining things. Making them about him and his dumb, endless archives.
“I am perhaps only more impressed by your chosen ensemble! Do my eyes perceive veritable Lenorkian armor?”
The talkative orb whooshed toward Sid. It began revolving around him like an annoyingly-attached moon. As his exo-orb hummed excitedly, Tōn-E rattled off his useless knowledge of antiquated armor.
“Snorp-resistant spiked shoulder caps?!” He spun around Sid’s midsection. “Triple-layered chest plates?!” He dropped closer to the floor. “Anti-gravity shin guards made from the rare lenorkium alloy?!”
Tōn-E giggled as he orbited Sid. His laugh disturbed Marc. It sounded like a space rat being strangled in the bowels of an undersea air vent.
Sid could hardly keep up with Tōn-E’s flying. But he looked happy with the attention. “Yeah! I’m told this suit was built for the Frost Ring wars,” he said. “It never got used.”
Marc continued to not engage. He slunk deeper into his shawl, folded his arms, and sighed.
“I don’t believe it!” Tōn-E said.
He backed off from Sid, flying back toward the doorway. He turned on his spotlight once again. It now stretched over Sid’s body. “Saving! Saving!”
Sid wasted no time posing for the occasion. He flexed all four arms and gritted his snaggling teeth. His irises turned a deep red and his two small horns protruded from his forehead. Tōn-E was overjoyed. “I did not think I would ever have the chance to record your agitated state,” he said.
I’ll show you an agitated state, Marc thought to himself.
“I’ve got a relic you’re going to love,” Tōn-E said. His tiny sphere filled the cave with noise. But it wasn’t Tōn-E’s usual metallic voice. The sound came from another species entirely.
His orb played an intense, ear-shuddering roar. The recording may have been slightly fuzzy, but Marc knew the source. It was unmistakably Lenorkian.
And like the gears in a drill, something appeared to “click” inside Sid. His eyes widened. His armored chest expanded. And he joined in. But Sid’s roar was… authentic.
“HRRRRRRRRRGAAAAAAAAHHHHH” he blasted out of mouth. Marc’s entire rib cage vibrated uncomfortably.
It spooked Marc. Igniting some primal desire to escape a dangerous predator. That was a feeling he never felt around Sid. He didn’t like it.
Sid himself even looked embarrassed for a second. Something he’d kept suppressed had slipped out. But Tōn-E turned up the volume on his recording. And with a cautious smile of someone nervously breaking a rule, Sid matched it. And then some. The two bellowed together. It was enough to make Marc queasy, although it was unclear whether it was due to the vibrations or Sid bonding so much with Tōn-E.
The roaring continued. Their talking continued. Tōn-E went on about Sid’s armor some more and his people’s valor and the hardship his ancestors must have faced.
“Usually I keep this stuff stashed away,” Sid said to Tōn-E in his soft normal voice. His horns had retracted, and his eyes had returned to normal. “These are shameful pieces of our history. Truly. And with a people I never really fit in with. But tonight, it just felt right to wear it, you know?”
“I understand completely,” Tōn-E said. “It is in these end times that we gravitate toward those traditions that were so much of what made us feel alive in the first place.”
The statement made Marc want to hurl. He didn’t want to entertain such stupid notions. But the gremlin rotated to him next.
“Hello Marc! Did you find any good junk today? Any new additions to your scrap pile?”
Marc seethed. “I didn't scavenge today, Tōn-E. There wouldn't be any use. It's the end of the universe.”
“That surprises me. Humans love their junk and doodads.”
“Yeah well, we don’t have to cling to the past, do we? Not like that ever saved anyone.” He hugged his wrapped arms even tighter, tilting his body away from Sid and Tōn-E. His cold shoulder ended the conversation.
Sid picked it back up. “So Tōn-E, do you, uh… drink?”
As it turned out, he did. Tōn-E accepted a cup of fludge. He held it with a robotic arm—one that had suddenly extended from his exo-orb. Tōn-E’s orb whirred as the center of his “face” sprouted a grotesque, needle-like proboscis. It poked outward like a long nose.
This straw extended into the cup he held. Tōn-E sipped the fludge like an insect sipping nectar (whatever those two things were; the Archives were spotty).
Sid waited with anticipation. Then Tōn-E’s sphere shuddered. The fludge must have reached the insufferable little creature on the inside. “Scrumptious!” he said.
Marc sighed quietly to himself. For some reason, he thought the night would have made a turn for the better if Tōn-E had hated it.
“Two for two!” Sid pumped three victorious fists into the air. He grinned as Tōn-E’s straw dipped into the cup once more. The straw made a little slurping sound.
“My taste buds are tingling!” Tōn-E said.
But the big cup was too much for him to finish. He returned the mostly-full drink to Sid. And his robotic straw receded to his exo-orb. Sid of course finished the cup, slurping up the remaining pool of fludge.
“So…” Sid said. He wiped his mouth. “Should I put some tunes back on?” He pointed over his shoulder to the idle vent. Then he looked across his two guests for an answer.
Marc shrugged. He didn’t care about anything anymore. Next to Marc, Tōn-E bobbed excitedly.
“Oh, yes!” he said. “One reads about concepts such as scales and measures, but it is entirely different to actually experience them with one’s own body!”
What body? Marc thought to himself. And what were the other things Tōn-E had mentioned? Something about… measuring… dragons?
He studied the cave floor while Sid skipped to the vent.
“That’s what I’m talking about!” Sid said. “Get those Level 7 legs ready!” He tugged at the creaking cover once more.
It came off easier this time. With a pop! the storm above returned to the cave. Its natural melody filled the room.
“Woooooooo!” Sid raised his hands again and walked back toward the other two.
Tōn-E mimicked him with two twig arms.
But the music didn’t have the same magic as before. The beats were stale. And Marc found himself unable to ignore the sting of the sand pelting his face. He lifted his shawl over his mouth. His voice was barely audible.
“I’m sitting this song out,” he said.
The other two didn't seem to hear him. They were facing each other, waving their arms sporadically against the air current.
Marc didn’t care. He grabbed his unfinished drink from the kitchen. Then he searched for a place to sit.
He found a couch, just in front of the dancing aliens. As he took his seat, his bottom started to sink into the sofa. The tarp covering the couch crinkled.
He tried guessing the material underneath it. Clay, maybe? He pondered the question while watching Sid and Tōn-E figure out dancing without him.
“This is how Marc was doing it before!” Sid said to Tōn-E. His four arms fanned across the breeze.
But he got everything wrong. His arms whipped around the wind, not with it. And he was thinking too much about his next move, as evidenced by his scrunched brows. But the greatest offense of all was his midsection: his hips and legs stayed in place—as if someone had threatened them.
A part of Marc wanted to get up and show him how it was done. But another part wanted to see Sid fail. Realize the effort was futile. Give up on bonding with Tōn-E. And kick the Sphere of Useless Facts out of his house.
“Am I doing it right, Marc?” Sid asked while each of his arms flew in a different direction.
“You look great!” Marc replied. He took a long sip of fludge.
Tōn-E, on the other hand, did his best to replicate Sid. He waved his skinny arms erratically. It almost made Marc laugh; Tōn-E looked like he’d been set on fire.
But in all, the whole thing was awful. A bad impression giving birth to an even worse impression.
And they didn’t seem to be enjoying it much either. Despite Marc’s glowing endorsement, Sid and Tōn-E danced themselves to the brink.
Sid kept losing his balance. He tried to keep up with the music but flung himself too hard in any one direction. And every time he made a misstep, he’d let loose an acidic snarl. Tōn-E grew frustrated as well. Every few seconds, he simply froze. His exterior lights would blink red in error. As Marc had hoped, the two “painting pals” quickly ran out of steam.
The dancing halted altogether. A tired Sid returned to the vent and hoisted the grate back onto the vent’s mouth. The music stopped.
“I’ll just turn it down for a minute,” he said. He adjusted a dial on the grate. The metal slits creaked open. And a muted sandstorm flowed through them.
The music reflected the overall energy in the room: depleted. Sid secured himself two more cups of fludge before joining Marc on the tarp couch.
Tōn-E followed his lead. The little troll took a seat too, which meant hovering over the last open spot on the other side of Marc.
The boys took a minute to relax on the couch. They sat quietly while the plasma storm above the Outpost boomed and cracked.
Well, Sid and Tōn-E relaxed. They chugged down another couple cups of fludge and floated quietly over the couch (respectively). Meanwhile, Marc continued to be annoyed. He considered stepping outside and climbing to Level 1. Offer himself to the plasma storm a few hours early. The non-stop hum of Tōn-E’s exo-orb goaded him further.
Did it really have to make that noise?
Marc didn’t think the afternoon could get any worse. And then it did. Because Tōn-E’s insufferable humming suddenly quieted. And that only could have meant…
“Oh!” Tōn-E exclaimed, “I know what we can talk about!”
Marc braced for impact. His nails dug into his knees.
Don’t you dare, he thought.
“I read the most interesting fact about cats today!” Tōn-E started.
Not again, Marc thought. Absolutely NOT again. His fists trembled with rage.
“Did you know cats were the central deity across ten different ancient civilizations? The trend started with humans, of course, but the religion quickly spread across the galaxy as interplanetary travel became more widely available.”
“I actually didn’t know that,” Sid said, entertaining Tōn-E’s ridiculous theory. “Where did you find that?”
“The Archives! They have somewhat documented this phenomenon. You see, it was a common practice to capture footage of cats, even in their sleeping state. They were so important to these cultures that even the most mundane moment yielded significant reason to capture and worship them. If you want to see, I can—”
Marc had had enough. He slammed his cup down on the floor and flew off the couch.
“—SHUT UP. SHUT UP ABOUT CATS!” he shouted. He swung back around to face the other two. “CATS AREN’T REAL TŌN-E! AND THEY WERE NEVER REAL!”
“That’s enough, Marc!” Sid clenched his teeth.“Don’t start this.”
Marc returned fire, “I didn’t start anything; that was YOU. Going behind my back! Inviting more of these… fairy tales!”
His emotions overwhelmed him. He didn’t know whether to yell more or start crying. He did both.
“It’s the end of the universe!” he said as tears streamed down his face. “We can’t keep clinging to the things that brought us to this point in the first place! All these stupid traditions are the reason no one’s even here with us now! IT KILLED THEM ALL! And anyone stupid enough to keep believing in them is—"
“—I said THAT’S ENOUGH!” Sid growled. Marc didn't care.
“NO!” he said. Then he looked back at Tōn-E. “NONE of what you’re seeing in the Archives is real! The data is corrupt! It’s ALL CORRUPT! And CATS are just another dumb fairy tale to keep people like you going, while…”
He ran out of steam. He realized there was no more “going.” In fact, there was no time remaining in the universe for anything. But that didn’t diminish his animosity and anger toward the world. He glared down at the gray sphere. His chest heaved.
Meanwhile, Sid kept a cooler, bluer head. He too looked to Tōn-E, but with compassion in his eyes.
Tōn-E didn’t immediately respond to either. The only sound in the room came from his exo-orb. Well, the exo-orb plus the ladle on the counter, which suddenly blooped into the big pot.
All eyes were on the atypically quiet alien, whose hexagonal faces began to light up.
“I suppose,” his voice trailed, “that cats may not have been real after all. You said it yourself: records are foggy. They’re all from thousands of years ago...” He sighed. Tōn-E’s lights transitioned to a new blinking pattern. “And I also suppose… that I should have been more mature about interpreting error-prone information in the Archives…”
“It's okay, man,” Sid said. “I like that you dream big.” He reached across the couch to place a comforting hand on Tōn-E. But Tōn-E floated out of reach.
“I understand my presence here is probably upsetting,” he said. “You two have a special bond. I should not have interfered with it in its last moments. I will go.”
“No, Tōn-E,” Sid said. Each pair of his hands met in front of his chest “Please stay. You have every right to be here too.”
“I should go,” Tōn-E said. “I will spend the rest of the evening focused on real things. And because I will no longer be here, I suppose it will be the perfect opportunity to review Sid’s art so I can feel inspired for the end times.”
He slipped between Sid and Marc toward the doorway.
“No, don’t!” Sid called after him. “We should do this together.”
But Tōn-E had already vanished outside.
The Lenorkian, hand extended, waited for Tōn-E to come back. But the floating sphere did not reappear in the doorway.
And that was when a low trill emanated from the couch. It was coming from Sid’s his chest. He looked up at Marc, glaring. He bared his pointed teeth. His horns reappeared. And his eyes flushed with scarlet pigment.
Yuh-oh, Marc thought. About half his prior anger evaporated. Fear of a fight took hold.
Marc didn’t exactly dislike his chances. Lenorkians may have been stronger, but Sid wasn't a fighter. Marc was.
But Sid stuck to his morals.
“GET OUT!” Sid shouted.
Marc reflexively jumped out of reach. The short hop sort of ruined his show of anger. But he was still boiling mad. After all, fifty percent of him hadn't abandoned the cat grudge.
“Fine!” he shouted back. “Have fun exploding alone.” He whipped away to the exit.
The party was finished now. He almost stopped and went back for his fludge. But he didn’t want it anymore either. He just wanted a nice end of the universe with his friend. And now the end of the universe was ruined.
At least the apocalypse outside was behaving predictably. Marc stepped into the adjacent cave corridor. He surveyed the damage outside, looking through the long, horizontal gap in the cave wall. As the experts had predicted, the plasma storm took its toll.
The canyon glowed eerily bright, despite it being evening time. The wind howled as it raced through the canyon. And the cliffs around the gorge flashed white and pink as the storm charged with electricity, preparing to make its final jump.
Lightning cracked toward the ground. Some of the bolts hit the opposing cliff, sending rubble deep into the gorge. A gentle tremor rumbled in the ground beneath him.
The plasma storm overhead only creeped further around the planet. As the canyon brightened, shockwaves coursed through the entire city. They threw Marc off his feet again. He hit the ground.
Behind him, thunderous clacking erupted. The sound of falling rocks filled the corridor. He flipped over to see what explosion had thrown him.
It was bad. He stopped breathing. Because he could no longer see Sid’s home. All he saw was a pile of rubble.
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2023.06.04 08:25 PiccoloKuma Looking to round out my cards where categories are missing or type of card needed. Please share knowledge or feedback.
I am less than a year into the credit card rewards game. From an churning
perspective I might not have done it in the smartest way, but that's okay I fit somewhere more than the starting person and less than an avid churner. I.e. I want multiple cards that I'm happy to stick with rather than closing and opening 10+ cards. So now I'm looking for my next card. I'm hoping someone could help steer me towards a card with good reasoning. See below for my details
Current cards: BofA Customized Cash Rewards (May 2016, 3% online shopping); Amex Platinum (Nov 2022); Amex Gold (Dec 2022); BofA Alaska (Apr 2023, Cable/Transit/Streaming); Amex Bonvoy Biz (Apr 2023, Gas/Phone/Else)
Oldest account age: 7 years
Chase 5/24 status: 4/24?
Income: $60000 net
Average monthly spend and categories over $100:
Cat (food/insurance/medical): $145
Average annual travel: $4000-$6000 (domestic is socal/DC, international is East/SE Asia and Central America)
Open to Business Cards: Yes. I am not tied to my Marriott Biz and may close it if I decide to become loyal to Hyatt or a different chain.
What's the purpose of your next card? Shopping, Visa alternative to Alaska, Hotel, or airline specific.
Do you have any cards you've been looking at? I had my eye on CSP, WoH, BBP, or Aeroplan.
Are you OK with category spending or do you want a general spending card? Yes.
Tl;dr I'm 4/24 with Amex Plat/Gold duo. Should I aim for a Chase card, Amex trifecta, or airline/hotel specific credit card?
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2023.06.04 08:21 ChairThrowingOreo Post Chemo EBV+ DLBCL Questions
Hello Dr Joffe,
Just a quick couple of questions for you. I finished my 6 cycles of R-CHOP on May 8th, 2022 and had a post-chemo CT scan done May 27th. On my interim CT scan, there was about a 74% reduction in the mass size (yay). I got the results of the post-chemo CT and I got scared of the verbiage of the report.
LYMPH NODES, MEDIASTINUM AND HILA:
Image 47, right mediastinal soft tissue measures approximately 2.3 x 1.5 cm, previously 2.1 x 2 cm, marginally smaller
Adjacent to this, there is slightly low density soft tissue in the anterior mediastinum. For reference purposes image 39, this measures 3.8 x 2.4 cm and is relatively similar compared with previous. Unclear whether this represents anterior mediastinal lymphadenopathy or residual thymus/thymic hyperplasia
Could you possibly explain whether or not I should be worried?
Also, my mass was initially invading my SVC and causing SVCS. Even though the mass has decreased heavily in size, I still find it trouble sometimes to breathe when I lie down on my back. Is this normal with the remaining mass I still have in my body or would radiation possibly be benefical?
submitted by ChairThrowingOreo
to Lymphoma_MD_Answers [link] [comments]
2023.06.04 08:19 Competitive_Mood_116 626वां_कबीरसाहेब_प्रकटदिवस
2023.06.04 08:19 hesitant--alien Recap - MBMBaM 662: The Consequence Race
As table setting, I haven’t listened to MBMBaM in three years, give-or-take, so I have no clue what the modren era (😎) of the show is like. However, I have
been hate-listening to a movie podcast enough that I’ve actually turned a corner into liking it, so I feel spiritually ready for this. Plus I’m a little drunk, which has never been a bad decision for anybody ever.
0:00 - I’ve always kind of disliked the intro, especially the “cool baby” part, and sadly that has not changed with time.
0:20 - First time hearing the new theme song, which is fine if a little twee for my taste. I weirdly hate how they deliver the “1, 2, 3, 4” up top, but that’s just nitpicky. We can’t all be DeeDee Ramone, you know?
1:10 - Introductions. Travis introduces himself as “noted intellectual and middlest brother”, and Griffin just says “…And I’m Griffin… McElroy”. I didn’t laugh, but I did actually find that slightly funny, so I’m optimistic for how this goes.
1:35 - Justin has invented a new game that he wants to play called “Simply the Guests” where he tells them who guested on a celebrity’s podcast and they have to guess the celebrity. Travis points out that the title is a touching tribute (to Tina Turner, he clarifies a few seconds later) and there’s a bit where Justin and Griffin pretend not to know she died that Justin interrupts with a parody song. Is this too soon? I can’t tell, but I also only get my celebrity death news from Simpsons memes.
2:31 - I’ve had to pause and restart enough times that I’ve realized how shitty the web player is, since I have to click like three times before it registers as being on the page and actually trying to play instead of just highlighting the button, and if I try to click the 15 second rewind button it usually skips to the ~11 minute mark right above the button. However, I refuse to actually download the episode because if I do that, Jesse Thorne wins.
2:38 - My voice teacher would not
approve of Justin’s technique.
2:58 - Justin only has one round prepared, but expects it will take longer than they expect. Griffin rightly questions if it’s actually possible to play this game based on the information that will be provided. Travis says that sometimes when he comes up with a game, it’s like when you start off at level 1 fighting Sephiroth and die, but it just takes you to a cutscene and is all part of the game. I’m struggling to think of games he’s come up, which is maybe a metaphor for how I never finished FFVII. Justin says it should be easy if their heads are on a swivel, and 50-50 if they’re half paying attention.
4:30 - Justin is giving the guests in order as they’ve appeared: Billy Ray Cryrus, John Carter Cash, Billy Bush, Albert Pujols. Griffin laughs and makes a joke about how his head is on a swivel but it hurts, and I’m shocked and a little disappointed that it wasn’t a joke about how one of the greatest Cardinals of all time has a name that’s pronounced “Poo Holes”.
5:00 - The next guests listed Adam Carrolla, Clint Black, and Gary Busey. Travis incorrectly guesses Blake Shelton. Justin says Katie Couric was the next guess, and Griffin’s postulation of Kevin Sorbo is apparently pretty close.
6:10 - Dr. Drew is the next guest. Travis asks if they would be willing to guest, and Justin says he likes to think they’d have a nice long talk about it. Griffin guesses Randy Quaid. Justin neither confirms nor denies, but instead finishes listing the guests - Sharon Stone, Martin Short, Mike Lindell (the MyPillow CEO), Jim Brown, and Anthony Fauci. I actually kind of like this game, because what the fuck?
8:40 - Justin says he’ll give them an episode title for any celeb mentioned. Travis picks Sharon Stone, who covered “Pandemics, Social Justice Movements, and Animal Actors”. Griffin picks Pujols, who covers “Baseball, Downs Syndrome, and Living the American Dream”, and asked if there were other baseball players on the list.
10:05 - Justin admits he skipped Jimmy Morris because he didn’t know who that is. I didn’t either, but I have the power of Google and in the time it took him to explain why he was skipped, learned that he starting playing for Tampa Bay Devil Rays when he was 35 and The Rookie
was based on him.
10:30 - Travis and Griffin discuss “Sorbo adjacent” celebrities and Justin scolds them for not talking to each other, saying that’s what a podcast is and that he’s trying to do a podcast. To paraphrase a joke from Jon Gabrus, it’s three straight white men talking, we already know it’s a podcast.
11:30 - Travis suggests Dennis Quaid, since he has a strong connection to baseball and Christ. Griffin agrees and Travis is in fact correct. Ironically, that means that Jimmy Morris was probably the most helpful clue, since Dennis Quaid starred in The Rookie
. Justin offers a bonus for naming the show, and says it’s something with “Dennis”. Griffin accurately guesses “The Dennissance”.
13:45 - Justin mentions Morris was the titular rookie, and claims that people forget Dennis Quaid. They discuss the Quaid siblings a bit and advise Dennis to get back in the podcasting game.
15:15 - First question of the episode: “My boyfriend and I were looking for a bar before your Columbus TAZ show and walked by one that looked empty and not our vibe, but it had tinted windows so it was hard to tell. We walked to another bar and inside the door person flagged us down and said someone was looking for us. We were already inside this other bar when the woman who was working at the first bar said she saw us looking in and said “Please come into my bar - we have cheaper drinks. We were confused and startled and decided to stay at the bar we were already at, but we weren’t sure if we regretted it because this person went to the effort to chase us down half a block, cross a busy street, went through a revolving door to get to us. Also, the drinks at the bar were expensive. Should we have gone back to the other bar instead?” - Confused in Columbus. Not to brag, but I’ve been to a lot of bars in my lifetime and can say with some confidence this didn’t happen.
16:05 - They immediately answer that, no, they should not have gone back to the other bar. Travis accurately points out that weird pursuit aside, if they have that little business then 100% of the focus would be on them. Griffin thinks they would have had a tremendous amount of power and would get their drinks immediately, and the bartender might have cool stories. They discuss how bad the design of this bar is that it’s impossible to see inside, both because they crave attention and so that someone will notice in case they go missing.
18:45 - Travis says if he ran a restaurant across from another restaurant, he would go up to patrons at the competitor and try to lure them away. Apparently Tom Green did this with pizza delivery as a TV show, and Justin thinks he would have Shark Tank’d it if it was a viable option.
19:36 - Travis says Tom Green would’ve probably called it “Shart Tank”. I laughed out loud.
20:00 - Griffin says in Austin they basically have to have barkers for the various bars given the amount of competition for foot traffic and Justin thinks they should just go for hyper-local advertising.
21:00 - Travis offers Griffin an investment opportunity, claiming he needs angel investors. Justin is incensed that he isn’t offered the chance, and Griffin says it’s because he has no money but maybe his “crypto shit’s gonna pay off some day”. Justin says he doesn’t have “crypto shits unless I’ve been eating cryp-tacos” (Griffin pitches crypto-salsa) and that Superman hates cleaning up Krypto shits.
21:44 - Travis points out that Superman named his dog after a thing he hates. I swear this had to be a Seinfeld joke at some point, since the two things I know about Jerry Seinfeld are (a) he loves Superman and (b) he’s not funny. Actually, I know a third thing, which is that he dated a 17-year-old when he was 38. Anyway, fuck that guy.
21:50 - Travis pitches having a long stretch of connected bars by buying all the existing bars and knocking down the connecting walls. Griffin and Justin point out that’s essentially the Disneyland model, and Justin mentions the Goofy sour balls.
21:51 - I Googled “Goofy sour balls” and thankfully it was a real candy. Griffin indignantly says that they stopped making them and that “Goofy took his sour balls away”. Travis says “He washed them” and they ignore him. I laughed out loud again, man’s really winning me back. They continue on this riff, making more and worse versions of the same joke.
24:07 - Question 2: “I’m enrolled in summer college courses. In one of my classes, a guy in front of me likes to stretch backwards over his chair with his eyes closed. His head basically ends up right on my desk and he will breathe in my face. I’ve had to move my laptop to stop him from laying on it. Am I the weird one for staring at the guy as he disrupts all my belongings and my personal space? He does it more than five times a class. It’s very awkward and makes it hard to focus on the lecture. Should I say something? Help me brothers, how do I stop this stretching bandit from stealing my peace of mind?” - Cramped College Co-Ed in Canada.
24:57 - Justin has an immediate suggestion. I assume it’s the actual solution, which is to say something like an adult or just switch seats, but nope, it’s the old chestnut of put some jelly on it. Griffin suggests surprise massage. Travis clarifies that they’re definitely ignoring the “excuse me, could you not do that” option, which Griffin confirms because it’s not very funny. This takes me back to when I used to regularly listen, since part of the driving force for me stopping was the sheer number of questions that could be solved by two seconds of slightly awkward conversation. I totally get it, social anxiety is a bitch and I’ve absolutely been there, but the lack of funny kinda stems from the question. They all agree, and Travis suggests adding broken glass to the jelly.
26:57 - Griffins goes back to the massage suggestion, with “dual percussive massagers”. Justin suggests hovering over them and saying “There’s my sweet boy” and Travis suggests a “little kiss on the forehead” which, thankfully, they immediately shoot down. Still, I’m uncomfortable.
28:00 - Justin points out that, if someone actually followed the advice they give, the problem would be solved, it’s just a question of consequences. There’s some more discussion of the Quaids but my spirit is a little broken and I can’t bring myself to rewind to accurately transcribe any of it.
29:43 - Money Zone: Travis says, “Well Justin,” and Justin misidentifies him as Griffin. So far, hardest laugh of the episode. The ad is for Zocdoc, which Justin mispronounces a lot
. I assume any service that advertises on a podcast is actually just a money laundering scheme, medical stuff doubly so, but it does remind me that MaxFun podcasts are the only ones where I can tell the ad copy was done in a single take with no edits. I admire it, in a way.
32:45 - A MaxFun ad for “Just the Zoo of Us”, which is apparently a podcast where they rate animals on their “effectiveness, ingenuity, and aesthetics”. It kind of worked on me, which is to say I’m debating the merits of getting a Zoobooks subscription as a childless woman approaching her thirties.
33:30 - A MaxFun ad for “Feeling Seen”, where the editor likes to play the game of taking a sip of coffee anytime the guest says how good a question is, how smart the host is, or cries unexpectedly. I cannot stress enough how much this makes me not want to listen. I don’t even have anything snide to say, I’m just genuinely put off by it.
34:19 - Griffin introduces the Wizard of the Cloud: How to “Talk Nerdy” to someone, which is meant to help you talk to the “cute nerd in your science class” by becoming more adorkable to them. Justin and Travis are disgusted by the word “adorkable”, which feels like a real split with their brand of appealing to mid-2010s Tumblr users.
36:00 - Travis points out that this article presupposes that nerdy people only want to be seduced with nerdy things, and will shun all other romance. The original pickup line is “Are you a carbon sample? Because I definitely want to date you. If you’ve seen The Big Bang Theory, you already know science and physics nerds are the best” Travis punches it up with “I’ve got a theory that we should Big Bang.” Currently he’s batting a thousand for me.
36:55 - Wikihow asks “Can math be sexy?” They talk about how sexy 8 is and Travis makes a 69 joke, so I retract my previous statement. There’s a gross astronomy-based pickup line saying “Do you mind if my comet enters your solar system” and “Hey, nice asteroids”. Mercifully, no “Can I touch Uranus?”
38:30 - More bad pickup lines, now about computers. Apparently “You’re hotter than the bottom of my laptop” is a good come-on. The video game lines are equally impressive, and Wikihow recommends that distracting gamers away from their games is easier said than done. These are more sexually charged than before, but no more clever.
43:30 - We’ve arrived at Star Wars
. Wikihow says “Jedis are tough nuts to crack, so you may need to use the Force to woo them effectively.” It’s been a while, but I’m fairly certain Jedis aren’t allowed to fall in love and that’s kind of a whole thing with the prequel trilogy. Also, are we not doing phrasing anymore? Cuz Jesus, they should take a second pass at that.
43:46 - Wikihow suggests several “Yoda-approved pickup lines”, and they do some bad Yoda impressions like “pull down some trim, you will” and “wet, you will get”. This is apparently a thing they’ve done before called “Clipping Yoda”. Justin makes a “something something something, I thought they smelled bad on the outside” joke.]
46:08 - They discuss the very
limited situations when the suggested “I find your lack of nudity disturbing” is acceptable, then move on to the Lord of the Rings
lines which are equally questionable. Travis brings up the theory that Frodo doesn’t know Legolas’ name, and now I wanna rewatch LotR.
50:09 - Justin suggests coming up with their own lines, which results in “You make me feel like John Rhys-Davies in Sliders
, cuz I wanna climb in those holes” and Griffin looking up “nerd movies”.
51:40 - Question 3: “My bank has been advertising a home ownership service to help folks buy and sell homes. I usually ignore them, but this time they’ve been offering a chance to win a flattop grill package with a $100 gift card to a very expensive butcher. I’ve been really wanting to get my dad a new grill. Brothers, I have no way of buying a house, let alone sell one. They’re contacting me, trying to help me buy a house. How do I explain to them I’m only entered to maybe win the grill and have no interest in the service?” From the Poor Hopeful in B (?).
53:00 - First of all.
Second, they suggest the asker (a) admits they were only in it for the grill or (b) saying they have a budget of $750 for a furnished home. It devolves into a riff about Bobby Flay and pitches for “Flay Bobby Flay” and “Bob Bobby Flay” to see if he floats.
56:15 - Plugs for stuff and the end of the episode.
Closing Thoughts: I actually enjoyed that, although with a lot of stopping and starting to write this. Also anyone who likes Clipping Yoda may also like Action Boyz, because pedophile Yoda is a surprisingly rich vein to mine. I don’t think I’ll ever actually pick up listening again, since I have about 280 episodes of Off Book to get to first and this whole recap has made me really contemplate my mortality, but I was pleasantly surprised by how much I enjoyed it
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2023.06.04 08:13 sixsixtiy Not an accident
2023.06.04 08:10 Purple_Concept_1739 How do you navigate sexual pressures of OLD?
FA (F38) here - I have been OLD dating and have found in the past that I generally move to the sexual stage very quickly, but not because I am super attracted, but rather it has acted as a 'stand in' for intimacy. Every relationship they have initiated and I have gone along with it (not against my will but rather it's a space I have always operated from). Anyway after a string of unfulfilling pseudo relationships with unavailable men I met someone through a sports group and we became friends first, no pressure. I so enjoyed his company and then after a while we both admitted we had feelings. We then moved to the sexual stage and started getting very close and he deactivated and pulled the pin (I knew he had a lot of abandonment and early trauma but ignored that...working on that). Anyway I am trying to be more conscious in my dating and not ignore the red flags and have been on a number of dates (4) with a guy who presents as secure (obviously I can't know yet). I told him that I need to go slow, he seemed fine with it, however was making jokes on date 2 that he might have to kiss me on date 3 - BUT, I feel utterly indifferent to this person. He cancelled because he was sick and I couldn't have cared less. I have a very busy life and I'm wondering if it's worth trying to fit someone in you feel so indifferent about. But the 'early' chemistry has always led to disastrous outcomes and now I am trying something 'unfamiliar'. How does one tell the difference between 'no attachment trigger and I find you uninteresting'. It feels like OLD sets up the sexual part so early - to the point I'm beginning to think I should just do the bumble friends thing to see if I can connect with guys without the pressure of getting sexual (I don't know if anyone saw The Holistic Psychologists insta post today around sexual chemistry blinding us but this is very much the case for me..).
Interested in other peoples experiences? How have you navigated OLD? Is it better to focus on meeting people in non-dating situations? Or should I just push through the unfamiliar and give this guy a few more dates..?
TL:DR I struggle in OLD to tell whether I just don't like someone or I'm just not activated and looking for advice on how to navigate the implied sexual pressure I feel regardless of expressing wanting to go slow.
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to attachment_theory [link] [comments]
2023.06.04 08:08 migliore-romanza 50 [M4F] #Newcastle, Hunter Valley, Central Coast, Mid-North Coast NSW - Mature, married man, seeking discreet affair
So what do I bring to the table? Dates, conversation, chatting, having a laugh, I don't take myself too seriously. Fun in relaxed, romantic settings, occasional overnights, and even travel if possible. At least once, maybe twice a month. I can organise all this, but always happy to share ideas as well. I'm flexible and have the ability to spend time with someone at their availability. Keeping in touch, chatting, and maybe coffee/drinks/lunch/dinner dates. All safe, discreet and planned of course.
About me? Tall, short brown hair, brown eyes, olive complexion, healthy weight, HWP, no tattoos or piercings, well dressed, well groomed, clean shaven, no rampant nose or ear hair, good nails, non-smoker, and social drinker. Well educated professional person. Fit and healthy - gym, swimming, and walking a couple of times a week. Fun, GSOH, DTE, romantic, passionate, sensual, caring, and generous. Definitely not the rude, pushy, arrogant, demanding type, I respect peoples space and their wishes.
What am I looking for? A woman (sorry men, you don't do it for me). Hoping to chat for a bit and then organise to meet in person. Looking for a physical in person affair, not online or long distance. A feminine lady, healthy weight, HWP, good conversationalist, non-smoker, social drinker. Enjoying good conversation, fine food and drinks is as important to me when spending time together as the physical side of things. Someone who has some available time for an affair.
I could go on, but I'd rather leave something to chat about. So if I've piqued your interest, please don't hesitate to contact me for a chat. Thanks, cheers
submitted by migliore-romanza
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2023.06.04 08:04 SoltheWise Willem II - Ashes of Men
Blackwater Bay. 200 AC OST - See the Fire in Your Eyes (Moving Camps) Hymnal
Willem stood on the rocky shores, his weary eyes fixated on the devastating aftermath that lay before him. The acrid stench of burnt flesh mingled with the briny scent of the sea, assaulting his senses and leaving an indelible mark upon his weary soul. The once pristine waters, now tainted with the remnants of a great battle, lapped ominously against the scarred shoreline. The morning mist cloaked the beach, lending an eerie ambiance to the desolation that stretched as far as his aged eyes could see. Swollen and charred corpses dotted the shore, their broken forms a grotesque tapestry of twisted limbs and contorted expressions frozen in eternal agony. Each lifeless body told a tale of valor and despair, of dreams cut short and promises unfulfilled.
Amongst the fallen, Willem's gaze fell upon a young soldier, barely a man, his visage marred by the cruel hand of war. A splintered beam lay upon him, wrapped in the fraying salted ropes of rigging. He had a rusting bit of armor on. It likely was polished before his doom. This boy was a knight. The knight's eyes, once filled with hope and determination, stared lifelessly into the endless expanse of the heavens above. Willem felt a pang of sorrow deep within his chest. "I do not believe that she has condemned us to destruction."
A mournful wind whispered through the rigging and ropes strewn across the beach, a haunting chorus that accompanied the tragic tableau. On the wind he heard Ser Ilyn Crakehall's reply. Every face he looked upon, swollen and charred, every lightless eye. The remnants of destroyed ships, mere fragments of their former glory, served as a solemn reminder of the carnage that had taken place upon the waters. The sea, once a source of life and sustenance, now offered naught but a final resting place for the fallen, claiming their battered forms as its own. The surf and tide were awash with the aftermath.
As Willem treaded along the shoreline, his weathered boots sinking into the sand, he couldn't help but reflect upon his own life. His once unyielding sense of honor had been tarnished by the relentless march of time, battles fought and comrades lost. Deeds done. The weight of regret settled upon his weary shoulders, his footsteps echoing with a melancholic cadence.
He had unironically warned a member of the Kingsguard of the impending destruction, a dire premonition that had fallen upon deaf ears. The bitterness of that moment still lingered, a bitter taste upon his tongue. Willem had seen the fire in his dreams, and had felt the impending doom like a weight upon his very soul, and yet his warnings had been dismissed as the ramblings of an old knight lost in his own sorrow.
Now, as he walked amidst the aftermath, Willem couldn't help but feel a sense of futility. The battles fought and lives lost seemed but a tragic cycle, an unending dance of death and despair. Yet, amidst the ashes souls, timber, sail, and fallen heroes, a flicker of purpose ignited within his weathered heart. He would not let his tarnished honor define his final days. Perhaps, in this desolate landscape of broken dreams, he could find redemption, a chance to restore a glimmer of hope in a world consumed by darkness.
With each step, Willem carried the weight of the fallen upon his shoulders, their unfulfilled dreams and shattered lives etched deep within his soul. The somber melody of his footsteps, accompanied by the mournful dirge of the wind, became a requiem for the fallen, a testament to the fragility of life and the indomitable spirit that resided within the human heart.
The sun began to pierce through the heavy clouds, casting its feeble light upon the battlefield of land and sea, Willem raised his gaze. He would not falter in the face of despair . He would honor the fallen, fight for the dreams that had been lost, and see the fire in his own eyes once more.
As Willem continued his solemn march along the shore, he became aware of a somber congregation of smallfolk. Their presence was a stark reminder that the devastation wrought by war extended far beyond the fallen warriors and into the lives of the innocent. Scavengers, driven by desperation and survival, scoured the wreckage for any semblance of value, their actions a heartbreaking testament to the harsh realities of a world torn asunder. Some scavengers, their faces etched with weariness and sorrow, delicately pulled the lifeless bodies from the tangled flotsam and shattered remnants of once-proud ships. Their hands moved with a reverence born of necessity, for even in death, these fallen souls deserved a modicum of dignity. It was a bittersweet sight, as the scavengers toiled, both driven by the instinct to survive and burdened by the weight of their macabre task.
But amidst the scavengers, Willem's gaze settled upon a group of holyfolk, figures draped in somber robes that denoted their sacred calling. The Silent Sisters, their veiled faces concealing both their grief and their dedication, moved with solemn grace. They tended to the fallen, preparing them for their final journey, cleansing their bodies, and whispering prayers for their departed souls.
Nearby, septas and septons stood in prayerful contemplation, their voices carrying the weight of solace and hope. They offered words of comfort to those gathered, soothing the wounds of loss and lending strength to the weary hearts of the bereaved. The solemnity of their presence added a touch of divinity to the desolate shore, reminding all who witnessed their devotion that even in the darkest of times, faith could still be found.
Willem approached the holyfolk. He watched as they carefully arranged the lifeless bodies upon wooden pyres, creating a solemn assembly of kindling for the flames of farewell. The scent of incense mingled with the acrid remnants of battle, offering a brief respite from the harsh realities that surrounded them.
Moved by a sense of duty and the remnants of his tarnished honor, Willem approached one of the holyfolk, his voice low and filled with quiet resolve. "How may I assist you in this solemn task, sister?" he asked, his weary eyes meeting hers with a flicker of recognition, but then determination.
The sister, her eyes lined with sorrow, offered a faint smile of gratitude. "Your presence alone is a comfort, good knight," she replied, her voice laden with weariness and resilience. "If you would lend a hand in preparing the pyres, it would be a kindness to both the fallen and those left behind." She spoke quickly, but her voice was kept low - reverence was key here.
And so, Willem joined the holyfolk, his weathered hands embracing the weighty responsibility of bidding farewell to the fallen. Together, they placed the bodies upon the pyres, their movements guided by a delicate balance of reverence and practicality. The flickering light of the approaching flames danced upon their faces, a gentle caress of warmth that seemed to offer solace even in the face of tragedy.
Pyres were set ablaze and Willem felt a profound sense of purpose fill his weary heart. He had not witnessed the battle upon the bay, but in this solemn moment, amidst the scavengers and the holyfolk, he became an unwitting witness to the aftermath, a bearer of witness to the cost of war. And in this act of service, he found a flicker of redemption for his tarnished honor, a chance to ease the suffering of others and breathe life into the embers of hope that still glimmered within him.
Together, they stood, smallfolk and knight, united in their shared sorrow and the collective determination to honor the fallen. As the smoke rose skyward, carrying the souls of the departed to realms unknown, Willem's gaze remained fixed upon the flames, his heart heavy with the weight of the fallen and the resolute desire to see the fire in their eyes burn bright once more.
submitted by SoltheWise
to IronThroneRP [link] [comments]
2023.06.04 08:02 sanbogart Re: Sexual Harassment Report
Hello! I just want to ask for advice and recommendations on what steps I should take.
Context: I was on my way to school last May 08, 2023. I saw on the corner of my eye a white van Converge ICT nearing the jeepney I was in. The passenger of the white van was pressing his face against the window glass as if he’s eager to look for something outside. I was curious to see why and followed the direction of the white van as it slightly overtook the jeepney. Then, I saw the man in the passenger seat looking directly at me with a grin from ear to ear on his face and that’s when it clicked to me that he was trying to peek at my skirt (I was wearing our daily white uniform — not that it mattered since no matter what I’m wearing, may it be short or long, he has no reason to sexually harass someone!). The white van slowed down once again in order to give the man in the passenger seat another chance to look at my skirt. I cannot call him out or fight for myself, and I was at a disadvantaged as I was inside a moving vehicle. I wasn’t able to take a picture or video of the incident because my phone was broken. I did nothing else and faced the other direction. I took down the time, place, and car. Here are the details: White van from Converge ICT, with plate no. CAV6920, along Commonwealth Ave., at around 8:00AM to 9:00AM.
After that incident, I emailed QC gov. the same day. I also called the Converge hotline but they said that they couldn’t do anything about it unless the police will further investigate my case. Then, I went to the police station to file a blotter a few days after. As of now, I haven’t received any kind of updates on the case. I tried calling the police station, LTO, and other hotline numbers but the hotlines seems not to be working.
So, what happens next after a police blotter? Should I wait for the police station to contact me or is there anything I can do to get that man punished?
PS. please don’t bash me. This may be a small thing compared to other cases but this is my first time standing up against the countless sexual harassment I have experienced in my life. :)
submitted by sanbogart
to Philippines [link] [comments]
2023.06.04 08:02 Ganzowvs Her bio said give date ideas... I was quickly unmatch lol
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2023.06.04 07:54 OnlyHerefortheConvo Obligatory "I don't Like being short" vent. Is there any advice other than accepting it, or how to go about accepting it?
Mostly just need to vent, but every once in a while I am just incredibly frustrated with my height. I am 19 and 5'8 (I know not that short), and most of the time I am relatively unbothered by my height. I already do all the basic stuff, I have great posture, I am incredibly confident (or atleast try to be), I work out a lot, the works. I understand there isn't much else I can do.
But sometimes I just feel so damn small. I look around me and everyone is eye level or above. Even though I have a lot of muscle mass, I always look like I am comically smaller than my friends. I feel like a child, I mean some children literally dwarf me in size (seriously what are they feeding kids these days they are massive).
It bothers me so much because I just like being strong (Masculinity at its finest). Its cliché, I get it, but I like being a tough guy. I like being respected, I like looking big, I like feeling strong. Its hard to do that when you just feel so small sometimes. It also doesn't help that I am the short one in my family. Grandpa is 6'2, Brother is 6'0, Dad is 5'11, and here I am, 5'8 on a good day. Feels like I was delt the short straw, no pun intended.
Sometimes it just feels like life is just pushing me away from the things I enjoy. I enjoy exercising, I enjoy combat sports, I enjoy feeling masculine, yet I see so many people just do it so much easier, and I constantly have moments where life just pushes me down because of my size. I wonder if I am just chasing the wrong things. The Little Goku in my head keeps telling me "You enjoy this, don't use your limitations as an excuse. If anything that makes the fact you are strong worth so much more" but I don't know if I am telling myself that or genuinely believe it.
And to be honest, no advice has ever been great. It always boil down to "Accept it, try to focus on other things". That annoys me every time I read it. Why should I focus on other things besides what I enjoy because life decided to make things tough? Why do I need to accept the fact I will always just be a small guy? It feels like I am giving in, admitting defeat, saying "Yeah, you're right, there is no point in trying. I won't get as far as everyone else, so why should I keep going at all." I don't want to believe my solution is just to give in and find other things to enjoy.
And yet, sometimes it feels like I dont even enjoy it. I do all this work, for what? To be slightly stronger than the average person? I will never be the strongest guy in the world, I will never be the best fighter, I will never be the biggest one in the group, I will never be any of that, or at least it feels like I can't. I always think if I just dedicate a little more effort I will get somewhere, that other people before me have and I am just holding myself down, that if I really wanted this I would put my all into it, but it never helps. And in the end, none of that even matters in todays society, it wont even matter when Im 40, why do I care so much?
Yet here I am, so bothered by it I need to vent to literal strangers. I know I am stubborn, and I know I need to accept the fact that this is how things are going to be if I keep walking this path, but there has got to be some good advice for me to hear. I just feel like there is something I am missing, like either I haven't accepted the fact that I am just being stubborn, or I haven't accepted the fact that I need to fully commit to try and be whatever the hell my monke brain is telling me to be.
If you got this far, thank you for reading, and any advice is appreciated. Venting is good for your health and even just writing things down is a great way to destress and see your situation more clearly.
submitted by OnlyHerefortheConvo
to mentalhealth [link] [comments]
2023.06.04 07:48 Lalali03 It feels like i am dying. Scary sensations in head. 19, female
First i will give my medical background.
I have been diagnosed with Crohn’s disease and psoriasis. I started Remicade when i was 15, And changed to Stelara when i was 17. I havent taken stelara since January 2023 because of insurance problems. I have had covid twice, once in august 2021, and the second time in Fall (i dont really remember the month) 2022
I havent been diagnosed with anything psychiatric. But on February 9th, 2023, i had a panic attack that made me go to the er because i thought i was dying. I kept getting the dropping feeling (i explain it more later) over and over and over. and it was really scary. Since then, i have been having dpdr, which really helps me feel 100x worse, and has somehow made this even more of a nightmare for me. I also started my period on that day. I have noticed that the dpdr and anxiety is worse before (like a week), and during my period. Just wanted to put that in.
In the ER, they ran multiple tests. Blood work, Urine sample, EKG, CAT scan (because i told them about symptoms i mention later). And they checked my thyroid. The only problem was that my iron was a little low.
I’m really scared. It feels like i’m dying, and im not even really sure how to explain the symptoms. I search and i search and i search for any kind of answer. Even on this sub i try to search and i just.. it feels like i have something that no one else has ever had and it scares me so much.
I feel like it is a nerve problem. I will start with the symptoms that are easy to explain. The top of my head burns in one spot on the right side. It burns, 24/7. It never really stops, it just doesn’t burn as bad sometimes. The side of my head hurts on the right side, in my temple area. But its a different pain, just like normal aching pain, not burning. That is also basically 24/7.
When i touch the spot where it burns, on the top of my head, I feel this really intense panic. And my body will feel weak. It’s really, really scary, and i genuinely don’t know how to describe it. I was getting my hair done, and the whole time i kept getting waves of panic especially when she was like, combing my hair. Theres something wrong with my head. It feels like my body is falling sometimes. Please believe me. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to explain the scary feeling i keep getting, i’m afraid i will never get help because i cant. explain it. This pain started in January 2022.
I started getting the body/head dropping feeling in june 2021. I will explain a few times i get it.
When i watch a video, and it buffers. head dropping feeing and intense panic. My heart will race bad and it will get hard to breath. When i was getting my hair done. She was combing it and then she stopped for a second. Head dropping feeling and intense panic. Like i’m getting jump scared for no reason. I get it sometimes when i am standing. for no reason. Its worse when i am standing. I get it a lot when im im the shower and its so so scary. Please believe me when i say its not just anxiety. It feels like i have brain damage. With the scary sensations in my head, when i touch the burning spot, when i get the dropping feeling. It really makes me feel like im dying. It feels like my mental health is declining as well.
I will give more symptoms.
In September 2022, i started constantly and rapidly blinking my eyes and raising my eyebrows. My right eye also has been burning basically 24/7. My neck hurts sometimes for a few days at a time. So does my back. Those are random. I get random stabbing pain in my stomach area. I cant EVER get comfortable. My head has to be in a certain position and if its not i get random intense panic. Like my head is so SENSITIVE. Sometimes my ears feel full (?) And ring.
Please. Even if i cant explain my symptoms too well, i can still get help right…? They won’t tell me it’s just anxiety right? Please, does anyone understand my symptoms? I’m terrified. (since dpdr started) My memory hasn’t been the best, It feels like i have dementia. I dont know what to do. I’ve just been thinking about my death a lot. It feels like my life is over.
submitted by Lalali03
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2023.06.04 07:45 Ghost_of_Kurt_Cobain A Riddle
I’m here but gone, I am both right an wrong.
I’m all around, though quite hard for some, for a few I can be found.
I’m everywhere, effecting all things from any place but I take up no space.
I’m a father but I have no face.
I’m the teller of tales both old and new an every tale I tell..is true.
I see each sun rise an sun set, though I have no memory I can be forgotten but, I never forget.
I’m here for the change of every season; I strike fear in some but, with good reason.
I hear with out ears, the truth an the lies; I see all..though I do so..with no eyes.
I can be missed, I can be lost some say borrowed an in rare cases, even bought
but, not very often.
I can fly..but I can not walk.
I communicate though I can not talk.
I can heal any wound from the deepest broken hearts to the most vicious beastly bites; I can even put an end to any earthly plight.
I settle all scores from the most grievous plagues to the worst world wars.
I am not dead, not even alive.
I am one with the sky, the mountains, the oceans and the sea.
I come and go like the wind an pass by gently as the breeze.
I am one with the stars and the heavens which they comprise.
I envite you now..
come one..come any, come all in droves, for im certain know one among you knows.
Any who be witty..silly, or wise; I call upon you now, to the clever, the brilliant, the genius..the sly,
I ask only that you tell me truly..
What am I..?
I. W. Caín 06/022023
Please, DM your answers for confirmation so as to allow others to enjoy attempting to solve the riddle. Thank you for your courtesy. Good luck to all.! https://www.reddit.com/poetry_critics/comments/13z84dl/fake_memory/jmq6ux8/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3 https://www.reddit.com/poetry_critics/comments/13ypgax/effervescent/jmq79we/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3 https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/13xznev/soul_bound/jmkle7e/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3 https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/13xe3kz/360_degrees/jmkgh5b/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=ioscss&utm_content=1&utm_term=1&context=3
submitted by Ghost_of_Kurt_Cobain
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2023.06.04 07:43 Ghost_of_Kurt_Cobain ‘The Hidden Door’
‘The Hidden Door’
Ceaselessly searching, forlorn..so long without, faint of heart an faded mind, soul lit dim, plagued by the grim.
Ever onward I can not quit, as the quest knights of the grail, I mustn’t fail, nor turn to look behind less my strength unwind, an I find no winds in my sail.
I summon my will to stand tall before the ill that fouls my spirit, A soft whisper calls ..I hear it
“ carry on my son “
I’m close now.. I’m near.
Discouraged by lack of light, ever growing shadows long, eclipse my days in perpetual haze with shades of gray an darkened black of night.
Obscuring my sight, Condemning my right to seek for that which only the true of heart can find.
My task at hand such as it is for every man, this day an for ever more,
..I am the key, at last I see. The secret is no more. I am arrived..! all is true. No false tail contrived.
Before me lay the boundary, beyond which I am free of the sorrow and sadness which so long has bound me, for within endless love without condition awaits to forever surround me.
alas, ..at long last, I have found thee, My thirst quenched, my quest at its end, no longer shall my spirit hunger nor shall I suffer the vile torment of loves drout, no longer am I one for whom love is without.
With belated joy, I cry out..all praise be to The Lord !
I am Elated.
Bold are the tears which stream from my eyes as I raise my hands to the sky. blessed be my Lord and Savior, for you have led me to love, in it I am forever saved, joyous now are all my days.
The vessel of my heart filled as my cup runeth over, the fountains of my faith abound once more.
For all still searching, lend me your ear, for I say unto thee; seek diligently with all thine heart, and from it let not thy hope depart,
For the wealth of life an love everlasting awaits, for all who endeavor to continue their search an keep their faith.
"Seek and ye shall find"
that which lay behind..
the hidden door. https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/xack59/dont_tell_me_the_odds/int223h/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3 https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/xa8ceb/boyhood_forts/int2k88/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3
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2023.06.04 07:42 Edwardthecrazyman Hiraeth or Where the Children Play: Dog-meat and the Whipping Boy 
If I were to guess, I’d imagine they took Andrew to Boss Harold before anyone else and the rumors around Golgotha seemed to support this supposition; the Bosses enjoyed their personal retribution away from the eyes of citizens, maybe it was talking or maybe more, and although there were whispers of the boy being strung up on the wall or maybe he’d be violated in the stocks for all to see, I imagined that the council I held with Boss Harold might’ve had something to do with that never materializing. When I was allowed to the boy’s cell, it was dark, and his face was bruised and the bandaging I’d applied to his severed wrist had been removed probably for amusement. The room was small and there were no windows and only a single doorway let out into the hallway which contained other cells and further, near the exit, there was the office of wall men. The guard that’d let me in locked the door behind me and Andrew sat on a metallic cot without cushioning, and he stared at the grimy floor through swollen eyes.
“Hello,” he said. And I was taken aback by the comment because he spoke it as quickly as he might passing a person in the street. He'd been through so much that the word was abrupt, skittish. I nodded and moved to him, reaching for his arm where he’d been nearly fatally wounded. It was infected. Without fighting me, he allowed me to tend to it without even a question; I wiped it and applied salve. Once it was cleaned and rewrapped and only after I’d settled on the cot beside him, he spoke again, “I heard stories about the cells, but I never thought they’d smell.”
I withdrew a handful of antibiotics, and he took them without putting them to his mouth. “You should have them,” I said, “You might lose the whole arm if not.”
“I might lose my life.”
“Maybe not,” I offered a grim smile and water with for the pills. “You’re alive still.”
“How much longer though?” He took the medicine and grimaced hard. The boy looked older than he was. “It smells like blood here. I can smell the people that’ve been here before.”
I patted him on the back and removed myself from the cell and he did not call after me, not even to ask for the return of his hand and I hoped that I could stave off whatever tortures the Bosses might have in store for him.
It’d been two days since I’d returned with Dave and Andrew and quickly after our arrival, I’d tried departing from the man and hoped he’d drop whatever revenge he believed I could assist him with, but it was to no avail for he attended everywhere with me since our return to Golgotha. Although he’d not been allowed to enter the cells alongside me, he was waiting for me outside as I stepped through the wall men’s office and into the noonday sun; I deftly plucked a pre-rolled cigarette from my pocket and tried at lighting it but before I’d even gotten the chance, he was there at the stoop of the office, pestering, “We should go somewhere quiet,” he said.
“What do you take me for exactly?” I asked while maintaining eye contact with the flame off a match.
“You’re capable enough. You could be a hero. I’d do it with you. We could scrounge up a handful of people and change things. We really could.” Dave was casting sidelong glances at those that passed us in the dirt street just off the stoop, but nary one seemed to care about our conversation.
He put a hand on my shoulder, but I shrugged it off.
Felina’s was a structure partially built from ancient shipping containers directly in the heart of the hydroponics towers in the center of town; the chicken shit smell from the base of the towers came with nauseating stagnation and could make a passerby sick, but upon entering Felina’s, the smell subsided and was replaced with the smell of body sweat. The older barwoman stood behind the counter and me and Dave took up on the far corner where we sat around an old card table, using crates as chairs; no one else was there—the smell of the hydro towers probably had some hand in that.
Dave took in close to me so that I could feel the moisture off his breath, “I’ve been talking to a few others over at the towers and they feel the same way I feel—but with you—well without you I don’t think I’d want to do it.”
“No, please go on without me,” I slanted my body across the table to push my face away from Dave’s; with me positioned with my back against the wall, I spied Felina beyond the counter, arms across her chest and watching us with an air of suspicion. She came to our table, slowly with her club foot and upon reaching us, she used our table for mild support with her big hands and greeted us without excitement.
Dave asked for water and her gaze shifted to me and I dismissed her, and we were alone till she limped back over with a pitcher and glass and Dave drank it greedily while Felina watched on from beyond the counter—her eyes suspicious but pretty blue too. She kept the haft from a dismembered axe behind the counter and was known to throttle unruly patrons with it.
Although some might have called Felina’s a bar, it was just short of it because of the rarity of spirits—besides, it was the upstairs brothel portion that the establishment owed to its popularity. Anyone might brave the smell from the street for companionship and if the noises from the rusted overhead support beams were anything to measure, the clientele was content indeed. A man descended from the stairs by the bar, gave a brief nod to Felina then to us and disappeared through the front door; a waft of the outside air rushed in, and Dave scrunched his nose.
“It’s a funny thing, I’ve passed by here all the time, but I don’t think I’ve been inside since before—” he paused, “Well, since before anyway.” He took a drink of water and rubbed his palms against his cheeks. “I know someone that works underground and could get us some gunpowder.”
I merely laughed at this. “Gunpowder, huh?”
“Well sure. The Bosses have reserves in the basements. We could blow them sky high.”
“More likely that you’d blow your hands off.”
“What’s it going to take to convince you?”
I thought, “Could you promise no one would die?”
Dave seemed baffled at the question. “Who cares?”
“These things hardly ever happen quietly—or without collateral. How’s this? Could you promise that no innocents get caught in stray fire?”
“Then you are as ill prepared as I’d imagined.”
“What’s that mean?”
“The meek are intended to inherit, but many will die before all that.”
“Nothing. I wish you’d leave it be.”
Another patron stumbled down the stairs, a scrawny tall man with a thin beard came charging into the chamber without clothes and a voice followed him, crying loudly, “Sonofabitch tried choking me!” A pair of arms and legs came stumbling down after—the source of the cries. There was a topless woman, a belt secured around one of her wrists and a pink mark around her throat. The naked man protested and put up his hands as the woman swung the arm with the belt and whipped at him with it, striking across the forearm he’d shielded himself with.
Felina moved carefully from around the counter, raised the haft, then brought it down across the man’s back. He stumbled to his knees, pleading. The barwoman raised the weapon once more and the sound was like wood against wood as it met the man’s head and his body was taken to the ground completely, perhaps dead, perhaps unconscious. The two women lifted the man out the door and Felina spat through the opening. Outside wind came again and Dave scrunched his nose once more before the door shut. The topless woman removed the belt from around her wrist, tossed it to the floor, then secured an arm across her chest before hurrying upstairs.
“So, gunpowder?” I asked Dave.
He nodded and took another drink of water while eyeing Felina as she took herself back to the counter and stowed the makeshift club into whatever place she kept it. “Yeah.”
“Go for it then and leave me out of it.” I fiddled with my thumbs across the table. “I’ll even make you a deal for when you come running to me for help later. If you blow your fingers off, I’ll try and help you find them. How’s about that?”
“I’ll wear you down.”
Another gust of wind came from the far door and I half expected to see the man that’d been removed there in the doorway, standing on his feet and ready for another round of punishment, but there was no one there in the hollow spot; as my gaze drifted from person-face level, I saw a medium sized mutt there in gray fur, pushing the door in with its nose and then sliding the rest of its starved body through—each of its yellowy sad eyes peered in and I could not tell the breed but Dave lifted himself from his seat and Felina went to the dog too.
“No dogs,” stated the woman.
Dave, the indomitable sweetheart that he was knelt to the dog’s face and touched its snout; it licked his hand and Dave said to Felina, “He’s not mine, but have you got some water for him?”
“No dogs inside. I don’t like repeating it.”
“Fair enough,” said Dave, “I don’t know who he—” he froze and then examined the rear of the dog before petting the dog on the head, “She
belongs to, but I’ll take her outside. Just. Please some water, won’t you?”
The barwoman first drummed her fingers against her leg then went to the counter and I noticed Dave flinch as she reached under there, but she came back with a bowl and he took it and ushered the dog out; as he exited, he called to me, and I sighed and moved with him.
Remaining in the street was the man that’d been tossed out, face up, half-opened eyes, and flies buzzed about, and I touched him with my foot, but he didn’t move. Blood leaked from his ears. “Dead,” I said.
Dave took the dog from the body around to the side of the building and the feces smell was strong with the hydro towers, but he sat the water down and the dog went at it quickly, without restraint and spilt half before the man went to steady it with his hand; he knelt by the dog and pushed a shoulder against the wall of the brothel.
“There you go,” I told him, “You’ve found someone dumb enough and maybe loyal enough to follow through with your little gunpowder plan. Strap a handful of dynamite to him and watch him go boom in the Boss’s faces.” I genuinely did try it as a joke.
“You can be very mean,” said Dave.
Once the bowl was dry besides dog spit, he returned it to Felina, reentering briefly, and it was just me and the dog and the dog looked up at me and I turned away while its voice whined in the back of its throat and I took a piece of hardtack from my pocket and tossed it on the ground—the dog went after it, assuredly snapping up dirt in the process. Then the creature made a dry and throaty sound from swallowing too quickly, but moments after the thick cracker was gone. It licked my hand gently, and I scratched its chin and Dave returned and upon seeing me with the dog, he gave me a look and then brought himself to the height of the dog in a hunker.
“Hey there,” he said to it, “Someone’s beat you up pretty bad, huh?” It was true; scars stood out in places where the dog had no fur.
In response, the weathered mutt hoisted its forepaws onto his knees and pushed its nose into his.
“Yeah, girl,” he took one of the dog’s ears between his forefinger and thumb and rubbed it gently and the animal looked up, sad eyed, “What’s a good name for you?”
“Dog-meat?” I proposed.
Dave shook his head. “What sort of sick joke is that?” but he was smiling, “No. I’ll come up with something to call her. Isn’t that right?” He asked the dog, massaging the face of the animal with his thumbs; the dog stared dumbly at him. “Maybe a Beth or a Patty might suit you. How do you like them?”
The dog licked his face but couldn’t speak.
“Well,” I said, “It’s a shame it got you, you’ll pick a person name for it and that’s strange. Why not call her Mary if you want a person name?”
“Bah,” said Dave, rising to a full stand; momentarily, even with the other folks passing us in the street, he took a moment to see the dead man we’d passed on our way out of Felina’s and for a moment he remained quiet. “I’ll come to you again Harlan. Maybe when I’ve got more of a plan. I only hope you’ll listen to the stuff I’ve said about it. I really do. I really hope you’ll be on the right side of this thing.”
“Sides are overrated.”
Dave put a hand on my shoulder, “Of course,” he nodded, “Whatever you say.”
He left with his new friend—the dog following him traced from left to right close behind Dave and I watched him take off and around the nearest hydro tower and I was alone on the street and evening wouldn’t be far away, so I took to home while staring at my moving feet and speaking to no one. A few people along the way tried nodding at me or saying a small greeting here or there, but I was absorbed in my own head, and nothing took me from it once I got going. Maybe that was one of the reasons I enjoyed the wastes; there were no pretenses out there and with the constant thought of death there was no other thing to think about than each passing moment. I could not shut my thoughts up. I could ramble more about the motivations of a scavver, but I don’t think I should—leave that for someone that cares.
Upon taking the catwalks where I could look out on a swatch of Golgotha with the sun beating down and the constant hum of people going about their business, I was frozen on the railing and wishing I’d taken my own life and wishing that Dave had not found me out there; maybe if I was faster or smarter or better in whatever way that mattered.
I pushed into the door into my small abode and cool blood pushed through my body on seeing the robed girl there on my mattress, holding a shotgun with its barrel angled directly at me; she donned a flowy mess of dresses and kept her head wrapped in garb so that only her eyes shone through, but her arms stuck from the mess of cloth and I could see they were skinny with long scab marks like a blade had drawn across the flesh.
“Harlan?” asked the girl.
“Is that mine?” I nodded at the pump-shotgun in her hands. The slowness of the world was gone, and I could think again; if things were different, I’d have been a dead man, but it was unloaded, and I knew it.
“It was hanging on the wall—I don’t know how to use the thing anyway. I don’t know what I was doing with it,” she said, “You just scared me, and I didn’t know who you might’ve been.”
“This is my place.”
She laid the shotgun on the bed and unwrapped her face; it was Gemma, “You were with Andrew.”
“You said he was dead.”
I brought in air slowly through my nose. “I did.”
I nodded, letting the air come out.
“I needed to find you.”
“But you found us both then, I guess.”
“Not on purpose.” A thought occurred to me, “Does you father know where you are right now?”
She shook her head; although rest had done her good, there was still a fair amount of fatigue present on her. “I snuck out.”
“Would’a though you learned your lesson on that front.”
“Is Andrew okay? No one will tell me anything about it.”
“He’s locked up right now, but he is alive. For how long? I don’t know. I figured your pop paid a visit to him already—wouldn’t you know about that?”
She shook her head again. “Woo,” Gemma slumped onto the side of my mattress and gathered the robes around her, “I’m feeling faint.”
I moved to the bed and gathered the shotgun, putting it back on the hooks in the wall. “You shouldn’t break into people’s homes.”
Cupping her brow in a hand so that I could only see her mouth and the bottom of her nose, she said, “I just needed to know he was alive. These past days I’ve been so worried about him. I knew you told me he was dead, but I knew you were a liar too. So, I had bad thoughts about what might’ve happened to him out there. If what happened to me was anything to go off.” Her voice broke for a moment and then she pulled her hand from her face and blinked a few sudden times. “I just.”
“I get it. You love the boy.”
She nodded without looking at me.
“So, beg your dad to let him go.”
“Everyone’s so mad at him. It’s funny that everyone’s so mad at him, but it was my idea, and they all treat me like a darling little flower. Like I couldn’t have been the one with the idea of running away. I had more reason to run than he ever did.”
“You should leave.”
“I don’t want to. Can’t you see that’s what I’ve been saying? Judge all you like. Call me rich all you like, but I can tell you this: I don’t feel like it.” Gemma grabbed the edge of the bed as her head wavered on her shoulders. “Dizzy spells are awful.” She shook her head. “Like no sickness ever.” Her eyes locked on mine. “Help me.”
“I’ve already tried convincing them not to kill him.” Taking a pause, I thought to add, “And I personally saw to his injuries. Please go and leave me be.”
“Oh, but you’ve asked for it,” she said, “You put yourself in the business of it.”
“Look. All’s I wanted was to save you if I could and get the water running again. That’s it. Now go.” I put my arm up to wave her out the door and she stood to make her way there, catching herself on the frame, then out on the catwalk railing before turning and looking at me over her shoulder.
“Bastard.” she said.
“Yes.” The door shut between us, and I took myself to sitting on the bed’s edge and reminiscing over how Dave reminded me so much of Jackson. Jackson was a real tough one; whatever happened he always kept a cool head (so I reckon him and Dave would be different in that way) and the idea of being a hero was so big for him. It’s a curious thought: whether Dave would have such ideas if hadn’t been for the tragic loss of his family.
The shotgun sat on there on the wall, and I took it and looked over it, putting the stock in my left hand then my right and laid it across my legs; the woven strap on it had gone thin so that the place I’d once worn it over my shoulder was mostly threadbare. I moved to the cabinet by the sink where I kept a few essentials and in the very back there was an old box of shells—it was a surprise they still seemed good, but with old ammo you never could tell, and the shells were just as likely to fire true as they might be to never send pellets from the barrel. I took a knife and began whittling into a shell I’d plucked from the box. Pellets spilled between my feet as I sat on the bed and they rolled across the floor and then I found the gunpowder and rose again, sprinkling it onto the cabinet top into a neat pile. Dave said he had a fella’ he knew that worked in the underground—the sort of person that could get him all the gunpowder he needed. Was he familiar with its destructive force; had he ever fired a gun? He promised me no one innocent would die and I knew that was a lie and there’s surely a piece of him that knew it was a lie just as well.
It was just then as I took a forefinger and thumb and pinched up a bit from the gunpowder splat that I remembered a thing that Jackson told me all the time when he thought none of the others were listening. The gunpowder rained from my fingertips as I rubbed them together and I sniffed the place where they’d become sooty, taking in a smell I’d not smelled in a long time. Jackson would say, “Whoever fights monsters should be sure that he don’t become a monster.” It wouldn’t be for a long time—after I’d visited the libraries in Alexandria or Babylon (take your preference)—till I realized it was a quote that Jackson stole from some guy named Neet-chee. It seemed like a good thing to adhere to, and it was certainly something I wasn’t good at keeping with and if I couldn’t then there was little certainty that Dave would keep to it either. Maybe I had become a monster; morally dubious anyway.
Jackson was a hero, and he was dead as was Sibylle as was Billy as was John and all of them. We’d tried heroing and it got all of us dead. Almost all of us.
I hung the shotgun on the wall and left it there and swept the gunpowder into the floor with a flat palm where the pellets were and chucked the box of old shells into the cabinet again.
Ringing of bells came from the hall of the Bosses and it was time for a display. Denizens gathered in the front square by the gates and awaited while they trotted out Andrew; perhaps the words I’d passed to Boss Harold rang hollow after all. The Bosses were there just as always, drinking their wine on the platform, and Maron was out front with his wall men in the semicircle of gathered Golgotha residents. Of the population, only a hundred or two gathered for this poor boy’s execution. The guards had, at some point after my departure, removed the bandage on his empty wrist and he looked more sickly in the face than before and his cheeks were swollen and he wept, seemingly not from the terror of it but from the skin around his eyes having been so damaged; tears came through swelled eyelids and a wall man kept him by the elbow and Maron marched to the boy and lifted the boy’s face with his hand to look into it and maybe he whispered something to him.
I weaved through the crowd, moving to the steps that led to the stage where the Bosses stood with their foods and wines and their plenty and upon approach, I was stopped by a wall men, but upon catching Boss Harold’s eye, he told the guard to let me through and I took the stairs and from the platform, I could see over the crowd—Dave was far in the rear of those gathered, totally disconnected from the others for he hunkered by a set of crates, patting the head of the dog we’d found just earlier in the day. For a moment, I wished I was there with him and not on the stage at all.
“Dear boy!” Boss Harold shouted at me over the excited jeers of the others, “It’s so good to see you again. You are quite the hero, and it’s always good to be in the company of those.”
I nodded at him and within a flash, he’d slammed his cup of wine into my hand, telling me to drink, and only moments passed before his own cup was replaced by a nearby servant. “We spoke about this?” I tried.
His face was red, and I could just make out the miniscule veins vibrant along the corners of his nose; the man was far gone drunk. “That boy’s been a thorn in my side for too long, so I know you understand it when I say that he needs punishment. I took all that you said into account,” his words slurred, and the sweet sick came off him in a breath of hot air when he pulled me in, resting his ear on my shoulder. “Nobody dies today, but ‘spare the rod and spoil the child’,” the Boss paused. “You’re not a father yourself, are you?”
I shook my head.
“Ah! Then you might not be familiar with that proverb required in bringing a child up in this world.” Boss Harold laughed. “I’d never take my sweet Gemma out in the square like this, but God there’s been times I’ve wanted it. ‘Spare the rod’.” He repeated. “But we’ve something a fair bit more interesting than a rod for that boy.” Boss Harold swayed on his feet and took the fist containing his cup of wine, pointing with his index finger at the open place by the wall where Maron and Andrew and the wall men were. “Speaking of!” Boss Harold was giddy, and he took a magnificent gulp from his cup, throwing his head far back. “You’re a learned man, yes?”
“You know how to read? Maron said something about your reading. That’s a rare quality! I’d love to talk about books with you sometime. I’ve my own personal collection.”
The wall men stripped Andrew of his clothes then threw them to the ground and a gasp escaped the audience and the boy shouted and Maron moved to a nearby bucket and reached into the mouth of the container, coming back to a full stand; a whip was coiled around his arm. The Bosses didn’t even look on. The punishment was for the benefit of Boss Harold, and not even he looked on. He jabbered on about how he’d like to speak with me over an old philosophy called Objectivism then he went on about how he’d learned long ago the greatest achievement of man was his own happiness and I listened to the drunk man and when the whip broke skin the first time, I’m sure Andrew felt every bit.
Blood exploded in violent dew off his back and the crack of the whip struck the boy till he couldn’t stand and then several times more. Splatter reached onlookers each time Maron lifted the whip over his head, and it was only once the boy stopped moving that the Boss Sheriff swaggered over to inspect him; Andrew had fallen face down and Maron took his boot to the boy’s side so that the boy rolled onto his back and seconds passed without movement and even Boss Harold quit with his talking. The prone body just lay there and for a moment Andrew looked like the body I’d seen earlier out front of Felina’s. Then the boy spasmed and gasped air and Maron shouted about how he was still alive before giving the toe of his boot to Andrew’s ribs.
“What a show,” said the Bosses—what a show indeed.
The crowd dispersed in clumps, taking back to their jobs or leisure and I left the platform only after agreeing that Objectivism sounded good and Boss Harold laughed and stumbled in pivoting to take on in conversation with the other Bosses and I briefly imagined giving him a nudge, so he’d fall off the stage, but refrained from doing so.
When I met the boy lying in the dirt there, there was me and Dave moved in too and Maron had taken to his station where there was a table by sandbags, and he was engrossed in a game of solitaire; it seemed the man was totally unfazed by the justice he’d dealt. There was a time when that body could’ve been a hero and yet there he was, poisoned.
I called out to the Boss Sheriff, “Ain’t you going to put him back to his cell?”
Without even looking over, Maron swept his mustache with his fingers and waved me off, “Harold was real clear on letting the boy out of custody once it was done.” He lifted his cowboy hat and scratched his head while looking at the cards on the table then he laughed. “He’s a free man. I’ve heard that was your meddlin’ that did it.”
I moved to the boy and snatched up the clothes they ripped from him and Dave, not saying a word with his new mutt by his side, helped me to return some dignity to the boy.
We took him to my small apartment and washed him and tended over him while he lay in my bed.
Gemma came soon after Andrew had been draped in a sheet—she was there in disguise as she’d been earlier and upon me opening the doorway, she began to ask me if the boy was with me. I merely stepped aside, and she rushed to Andrew’s side; if he was aware of her presence, there was no way to tell.
“They killed him.” She’d taken to her knees to be nearer his level. “Oh. Oh, he’s dead.” She touched him and he shivered at the touch. Gemma removed the wrappings of cloth around her head and looked at her sweetie closer and she put a hand to her mouth. “They took his hand!”
“No,” said Dave, “He’s going to live.” The man looked to me and I shrugged. “Yeah,” his voice didn’t sound sure, “He’ll live.”
I moved to the catwalk and Dave came with me, the dog following behind him—the timid mutt looked over the edge of the catwalk to the city below then stepped away and returned to my room. When Dave took up beside me, leaning over the railing, and the sun hit his face just so, he looked exactly like Jackson and maybe that was why when he raised eyebrows then cut his eyes at me with a question—the question was everything and I finally nodded. Previous RoyalRoad Neovel
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2023.06.04 07:32 flerpderpoid What does the eye movement sound like?
I normally don't hear my eye movements but tonight I was lying in bed and every time I looked as far as I could to the right or down my right ear would start rumbling as if i was yawning.
It feels more like a physical fluttespasm than a noise generated neurologically.
Is this how yours sounds? Thanks
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2023.06.04 07:28 kassad84_1 [POEM] The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac by Mary Oliver
2023.06.04 07:22 autotldr EU Foreign Affairs and Security Representative discusses Ukraine’s ammunition needs with South Korean Defence Minister
This is the best tl;dr I could make, original
reduced by 36%. (I'm a bot)
Borrell said that one of the things he discussed with Lee Jong-sup was Ukraine's ammunition needs. Summary Source FAQ Feedback Top keywords: ammunition#1 Ukraine#2 defence#3 summit#4 Borrell#5
Quote from Borrell: "Good meeting with Korean Defence Minister Lee Jong-sup at. Shared alarm at continued DPRK provocations and discussed Ukraine's needs for ammunition. We are working together to build a new security and defence partnership, following up on our successful summit."
Shared alarm at continued DPRK provocations and discussed Ukraine's needs for ammunition.
We are working together to build a new security and defence partnership, following up on our successful summit.
Previously: On 23 May, Borrell said that since the beginning of the year, EU countries have transferred more than 200,000 pieces of ammunition, as well as 1,300 missiles, to Ukraine.
NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg has urged the Alliance member states to agree to increase ammunition production with defence contractors, as their stockpiles of ammunition are being depleted due to support for Ukraine.
Post found in /worldnews.
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